


inventory of lost things

by Tangerina



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: (implying that there is a narrative here), Angst, Emotionally Repressed, Gay Eddie Kaspbrak, Gen, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-29
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21605020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tangerina/pseuds/Tangerina
Summary: things that happened in the summer of '58, a list:— a fight against impossible things (an evil clown, yourself,i’ll do it for free)— a damp,— a broken arm (yours, your broken arm, henry bowers spits on your face and you laugh and laugh and)— the most honest thing you’ve ever felt in your goddamn life. love. love for them. love for what you meant when you were with them. their compass. you knew the way, and you knew it because you were with them. when the seven of you were together, nothing wasimpossible
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	inventory of lost things

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so so so so much @sadplant for beta-reading this and for being the most brilliant person in the world i love you

let's begin with the obvious — 

your father. they way he put you to sleep, singing to you. sonia would tell him that the singing was her job, the holding you was her job, that you were god's _(capital g, mind you?)_ gift to her. frank laughed everything away (you would inherit his sense of humor) and held you anyway. you were too small when he didn't come back home to even remember — 

no, you remember the smell, the hospital smell. it's hard to forget — 

but the smell of the sewers, stronger, _impossible_ to — 

no, no, first things first. your father. hospitals. nurses. your mother, crying, that high-pitched sound that came from inside her, that took everything from her, crawling from her uterus, up to her stomach, nails scratching her insides — 

_eddie bear!_ — 

impossible to forget, you have tried too many times. 

frank kaspbrak died. you were too small to understand death — too small, too small, too fragile, too soft, your mother told you time and time again it was safe for you to be inside, to be in your room, to take the medicines she told you to, don’t run run, eddie, never run, never run away, never run too fast, never run from her. 

(you tried and came back. tried a second time. they say third time's a charm, don't they? third time, you leave home. she dies. you can finally finally finally 

— no you can't. she is gone, but her fingers, the way she hugged you like she wanted to put you back inside, the place where you could be safe. you try to let go, but she won’t let you.) 

things that happened in the summer of '58, a list: 

— a fight against impossible things (an evil clown, yourself, _i’ll do it for free_ )  
— a damp,  
— a broken arm (yours, your broken arm, henry bowers spits on your face and you laugh and laugh and)  
— the most honest thing you’ve ever felt in your goddamn life. love. love for them. love for what you meant when you were with them. their compass. you knew the way, and you knew it because you were with them. when the seven of you were together, nothing was

impossible

was it? you almost could taste how it would feel, to be  
free,  
and yourself,  
no medicines (things that happened in the summer of ‘58: sonia kaspbrak’s lies, all coming to surface), no fear, no dirty under your nails (some things you can’t just wash away), and

him. of course.

(you forgot him, you forgot them, you forgot the person you could have been, that person, that boy who for the first — and the last and the only — no, no, not the only —

— you forgot,  
(but you remembered again)  
how to be brave)

you see him again. (those fucking glasses.) you see him again, your heart skips a beat. (fucking blue eyes looking straight into your soul, almost a whisper _do you remember now do you remember now do you remember eddie spaghetti man eds eds my love do you remember_ and you do. you do fucking remember.) you see him again and —

myra!  
myra, of course. myra. after the third time (you finally left your mother, right, eddie bear?). a marriage because — because it made sense. you can’t be brave. you are de-li-ca-te. remember? don’t run, eddie. the biggest favor you could do for yourself would be to run in any direction, but she wouldn’t let you so you can’t run now. 

so you walk into  
(the worst decision of your life)  
the church and say your vows and now you’re a married man who can’t stop imagining how things would have turned out if you, if you, if you —

no, please. repress that. 

think about. myra. sonia. myra was softer. she didn’t know that tears were the sharpest weapon against you. sonia did. ah, sonia really did. myra cries sometimes, she almost knows it, but her tears, maybe they’re real, but your mother’s… she’s only eating you (alive, inside out, first your brains then the rest) because she loves you! she’s not like — _i’ll do it for a dime_. no. 

you look at him. you think about myra. have you ever wanted her? have you ever wanted anyone? you look at him and there is that feeling you tried so hard to ignore, because it’s not only about him — but it’s mainly about him, anyway — but sometimes, sometimes, some celebrity on the back of the car, a hand on your shoulder, a whisper in a deep voice _hey we could grab a drink together_ and you, oh, you wanted to grab that fucking drink, to feel man’s hands on your shoulders and honestly every-fucking-where, you wanted to know how your skin would react, how he would taste under your tongue, you wanted to know, but you didn’t run when you had the chance, so you just, you just, you just —

back to him.  
no, back to other things you lost. first things first, remember? father, and then, autonomy, and then, faith in yourself, and then god, and then,

eddie kaspbrak, you weren’t always this sad. 

father, autonomy, faith in yourself — you lost god at the same time,  
(on your knees in the church hearing your mother sobbing her prayers to god to let you be good, be healthy — funny how you never felt really sick, but she told you so many times that you were the sickest boy in derry, maybe in the country, maybe in the whole world — and you were alarmed because, because… really hard to think about it now, right? you were apprehensive, expecting to turn to dust right there, burned by the rage of god because you were — you had — you — something wrong, different, a little bit out of place, just a little but enough to — to never be forgiven.)  
and — fear.

you lost your fear. for them. to fight by their side. you lost you fear (it was never really yours, eddie, but your mother put all kinds of things inside you and that so-called fear was one of them) of the sewers, of being burned to the ground, of being known, of being perceived as you truly were. an eleven-year-old boy, broken armed, running to help his friends, being the one who took them out of hell. 

(it came back as you went away, as you forgot them and forgot the eleven-year-old boy that wasn’t afraid anymore, that boy that stood up against his mother, that boy that grew up just a little to stop being afraid of holding another boy’s hand —

him. of course, he was there. smiling at you.)

among the things you lost —

a boy.  
richie tozier. no longer a boy, now. black hair, blue eyes, thick specs, the same smile, the same fucking smile, the way he looks at you  
it’s almost a time travel —

at night, he knocks on your door, you don’t even hesitate, you open it  
you open your mouth (it’s an invitation, you don’t want to talk, if you talk you will overthink and you just want  
him)  
you can read him as well as he can read you, and so — no words, 

you held his hand when you were younger, and it was divine, but now you feel his body pressed against yours (desperate, desperate, above everything, he knows that you’re not delicate) and his mouth kisses you everywhere and you’re burning and you want to laugh because you were so afraid of burning on the church’s ground, but now you feel your skin on fire and it’s not 

bad  
not bad at all.

(myra, sonia, they try to enter you head, but he is looking at you, under you, amazed, and you see, you just see what you could have been and you want to cry,  
and you do,  
and he cries too and say something about being the kind of person who cries during sex,  
and you kiss him softly,  
things that you lost: a boy, and a life together.)

back to him, no —  
back to the sewers. back to _it_.

clarity.  
last things first,  
a life together, a boy,  
again.

(you imagine —

could we have another scenery? if the turtle helped, if believe helped, if. your arm, ripped off by _its_ mouth, blood flowing out of you — clarity, clarity — you imagine a thousand different timelines where you never grew apart, where you found each other again, where you can be together, but somehow, deep in your heart, you simply know,

it was supposed to end up like that.  
(you can hear him crying — he disagrees with you. it was not supposed to end, at all.)

and you try to tell him — clearer, clearer, all the bad things getting out of your system,  
myra, your mother, god, that smell, the leper — you really do. you imagine, the words. floating in front of your eyes

you know i… i…  
you look at him, trying to remember every single detail of his face, holding it close to your heart. if there is somewhere else to go after this is over, you don’t want to forget him again.)

and you see (not with your eyes, or with a body, it’s only your mind, somehow. you have seen impossible things before, you’re not afraid) that he wants to take you out, and you’re grateful because he knows what you would want, he always knew —

he knew well enough —

but beverly and ben say, they say —

no, no, please, don’t say that, don’t do that —

maybe that’s where he belongs,  
maybe that’s where he is supposed to be —

you know it’s not true. he knows it too. but you can see his pain  
(inventory of the things eddie kaspbrak lost:  
— a boy,  
— a life together,  
again.)  
and he is so weak — you realize you gave him strength — and he leaves you there,

no, please, come back, don’t, take me with you, please, _please_ —  
there is no voice. 

_it_ is dead. you probably should be glad. 

(it’s dark, you’re alone, you’re not really there, is more like like like  
an impression,  
like footsteps on the surface of the moon,  
like looking over your shoulder at the wrong time,  
like saying goodbye when you should never have left.)

it was supposed to be like that. wasn’t it?  
(your arm — georgie’s arm. who the hell is writing your narrative?)

and then, suddenly, —

no, let me tell something first,  
the unfairness of it all is that you almost had no time to miss him. he left derry, you left derry, you began to forget. if you heard richie tozier on the radio you thought _oh i went to school with that trashmouth_ and it was funny because you realized that _trashmouth_ was the way you and your friends called him sometimes and then it was not funny anymore because you felt tears in your eyes that you didn’t understand,  
and then you met him again,  
and you began to miss him for those decades apart, you were with him, but you were missing him anyway,  
and you remembered everything 

mom, dad, myra, henry, running, screaming, laughing, fighting, loving, 

and you were gone. dead. your body resting by the remains of _it_.  
and somehow, you’re still missing him —

but suddenly  
like a blow  
your conscience drops. for about a second, you really don’t exist anymore. 

(it’s a relief)

it happens time and time again, each time closer to the other, each disappearance lasting more than the one before,  
you realize —

things that you lost: father, autonomy, god, fear, mother, a boy, a boy, a boy, a fucking life together, everything you could have been, the happiness that would have followed if you got out of the sewers just this time, yourself,  
but never,  
never,  
your bravery —

he is forgetting you again.  
(it’s fine — your last thought is that you two can finally —

finally, finally, but it was not supposed to be like that, it was not, the things you lost —

clearer and clearer —

finally —

rest.)


End file.
